


Squirrels & Garnishes

by imusuallyobsessed



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Fluff Fic, Summer of Olicity, arrow 2.5, olicity - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 20:47:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5347997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imusuallyobsessed/pseuds/imusuallyobsessed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was Oliver eating between seasons 2 and 3 when he basically lived in the Foundry? (aka: what the heck am I doing, I just needed some fluff in my life)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Squirrels & Garnishes

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know, you guys. This just kind of happened. I think it's pretty cute. So did @acheaptrickandacheesyoneline

“Oliver?”

“Yeah?”

“Is everything alright?” Felicity asked. Getting him to admit anything wasn’t perfectly perfect was like pulling teeth, but she felt the need to ask anyway.

“I’m fine.”

Felicity scoffed, keeping her eyes on the lines of code scrolling in front of her. “Then why are you staring at my dim sum like it’s the last arrow on earth?” She looked up at the end to catch his reaction. He’d been staring. She knew it.

He looked away instantly, staring at the training dummy he’d been beating into submission until the scent of her takeout dinner had wafted over and distracted him.

“I wasn’t . . .doing that.”

Felicity shrugged, popping another bao into her mouth. “Whatever you say.”

* * *

 

Felicity really blamed herself. She should’ve noticed before it went this far.

“Oliver!” she shouted, rushing down into the Foundry with her bag in one hand and Chinese takeout in the other as soon as she caught the smell of something on _fire._

There he was, casually shirtless and hitting a giant tire with a sledgehammer. She did her best not to linger on the delicious, _delicious_ muscles, of course. Just because he’d said he loved her didn’t _mean_ anything, especially since it was probably just to fake out Slade but when she’d given him an out on the beach at Lian Yu he hadn’t taken it and that had to mean something, right?”

“. . . Felicity!” Oliver’s voice finally broke through the fog of her thoughts, and he was standing there like he’d called her name a few times.

That immediately brought her back to the present and she whirled around, eyes flitting over every corner of their secret base until they came back to rest on the ~~beautiful, shirtless~~ vigilante who was patiently waiting for her to say something and stop spinning around like a fracking dreidel.

“Why does it smell like smoke down here?” she asked. Generally speaking, fire was bad in an enclosed space like the Foundry. It wasn’t very well ventilated since it was a basement, and there were only two exits. She hadn’t really checked when she’d redone it, but she doubted anything was up to fire code. Not that it really mattered, since they’d all get arrested anyway if any city official ever saw what was down there. So, the smell of fire in the Foundry was both abnormal and very concerning.

“I built a fire. Don’t worry, I put it out a while ago,” he said, as if that explained anything at all. He turned around to start hitting things again, but Felicity wouldn’t be so easily distracted by his muscles and sweat and general sexiness. Not this time.

She walked around his space; coming up to stand a few feet from the giant tire he was pummeling like their conversation was anywhere near over. “Why did you build a fire down here?”

Somehow, Felicity saw him shrug even though he hadn’t really stopped exercising. “I needed to cook something,” he said.

Felicity understood his words. The syllables were strung together in an order that she knew was English. But it wasn’t making any sense.

“Don’t you have a bar upstairs? Don’t you have a hot plate or something if you don’t want to go up there? Why is your first instinct to build a _fire in a place with no ventilation?_ Wait, what were you even cooking in the first place? The only thing that fits in that mini-fridge is water bottles. What was there to cook?”

All of her questions rushed out of her mouth at once, but she just hadn’t been able to decide on a good order for them. There was just so much going on in her head from having this conversation.

Oliver paused, still staring at the tire. His jaw was clenched and Felicity could practically hear his mind working through her questions and formulating responses. She also read the reluctance in his face. Whatever he was about to say, he didn’t want her to hear it.

“I don’t know how to work the industrial grade equipment upstairs, and Verdant’s a bar, not a restaurant. I do have a hot plate but . . . Have you ever tried to use one of those things?” he asked, turning his big, pleading, puppy eyes to Felicity.

She rolled her eyes. “Of course not. Do I look like the kind of person who knows how to use a hot plate? They weren’t allowed in the dorms at MIT and camping away from modern conveniences isn’t really my idea of a good time,” she said.

“Well, they’re damn hard to use. I kept burning myself,” he said, staring at his hands like they’d betrayed him. “Also, I know how to make a fire safely so ventilation wasn’t an issue. I did live on an island at one point.” He shot her a dry look which she returned with equal expression.

“And I was . . . _Iwascookingasquirrel_ ,” he said, like if he mumbled and said it quickly she would magically not hear or react.

“ _What?_ Did you just say you were cooking a _squirrel_ down here? Why would you do that?” she asked, her eyes wide and mouth gaping. Sometimes it was so incredibly obvious that he’d spent years on a mostly deserted island.

He shrugged and went back to staring at the tire. He almost looked…embarrassed.

“Well, I don’t really have a lot of cash now that I’m mostly broke. I got hungry and thought about having to go to the store and spend all that money on food without even having anywhere to store it and I got really sick of just stealing the olives and celery from upstairs and I know how to hunt, so I just… Went outside and shot a squirrel,” he said, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his head in a sheepish gesture.

“Are you telling me that you’ve been living off drink garnishes and squirrels because you don’t want to buy _food?”_ Felicity asked, unable to keep her mouth shut due to the truly unbelievable things she was hearing. Oliver Queen, ex-billionaire, now-vigilante, roamed the streets of Starling City hunting _squirrels_ because he didn’t want to and kind of couldn’t go to the grocery store. It was simultaneously ridiculous and . . . kind of sad.

Felicity rolled her eyes, transferred her takeout to her purse hand, and tossed Oliver his discarded shirt with the other. “Put that on and shut everything down. You’re coming to my house and we’re going to eat actual food,” she said, her tone daring him to deny her.

He looked like he wanted to, but he didn’t. He just put his shirt on, grabbed his keys, and followed her out of the Foundry.

* * *

 

Oliver had been in her house several times before, so why did this feel so different? He’d been coming over all summer, learning everything he could so he would be prepared to take back Queen Consolidated. So, Felicity decided in her mind, she refused to let it be weird. They were friends. Friends having dinner because one friend had been living off squirrels and garnishes for who knew how long.

“Set your stuff wherever,” Felicity said, breezing through her living area and into the kitchen like she had Oliver Queen over for platonic friendly dinners that didn’t revolve around him taking over the company again all the time.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Their meetings usually revolved around Big Belly or her ordering takeout after they’d been at it for a few hours to keep their energy up. And by _it,_ she meant teaching Oliver to becoming Corporate Master of the Universe, not any other . . . it. However much she might wish it was a different kind of _it_.

So, they did have dinner together sometimes. And eventually the conversation would shift from spreadsheets and stocks and corporate stuff to anecdotes and jokes and her stories from hell working at Tech Village. Now that she thought about it, her dinners with Oliver were some of her favorite memories from the summer so far.

She finished setting up the meal by the time Oliver came into the kitchen, looking too hesitant for someone who had been in her home as often as he had since their business lessons began. Maybe he sensed the difference this time, too.

“So, I know its Chinese takeout, but anything can go with red wine, right?” she asked with a grin, grabbing a bottle of her favorite from the fridge and pouring it into the waiting cups. She already had water out, not even needing Oliver to ask anymore. He still drank, but always chased it with plenty of water. He didn’t like not having full possession of his senses.

Felicity ignored the warm feeling in her chest she got from realizing she knew him that well. That wasn’t even _that_ intimate of a detail, she reasoned. Surely anyone who went to dinner with him now would know that.

Oliver sat gently in the chair across from her after he plopped into her seat and immediately started digging into the takeout. She always ordered enough for three people at least, just because she didn’t want to be that person who called the takeout place every day and then the workers started gossiping about how she never went anywhere or had any friends or anything better to do than sit in her apartment (or the Foundry, but they didn’t know that) night after night and eat takeout food alone.

Oliver was looking at her over the food and wine, a happy little smile on his face, and Felicity sighed. “I said all that out loud, right?” she asked, putting a big piece of sesame chicken in her mouth.

He nodded. “On the bright side, you’re not eating takeout alone. Nothing for the delivery people to gossip about,” he said. His tone was just as soft as his smile and that made Felicity smile back.

“If only they were here to see Oliver Queen in my kitchen,” she said.

Their conversation kept the same light, easy tone it started with. Felicity got progressively warmer because of the wine, but she didn’t feel too muddled and Oliver never looked too scandalized by her ramblings so she supposed she hadn’t let slip how damn sexy she thought he looked in that black t-shirt he was wearing or how those jeans totally made his ass look like it should be cast in marble . . . or chocolate.

She offered the guest room or even the couch, trying to convince him to stay, but he waved her off like he had all summer. It was what made her finally buy him a bed for the Foundry. At the door, she smiled up at him but her eyes were firm.

“No more cooking squirrels over fires in the Foundry or living off drink garnishes. If you’re ever at a loss for whatever reason, just call me,” she said.

He nodded, turning to go, but Felicity grabbed his arm and made him turn back around to look at her. The smile was gone and her eyes were even more serious. “I mean it, Oliver Queen. If I find out you’ve cooked another squirrel in our place of work, I’m going to lock you out of the Foundry until you go to the grocery store and learn how to use a hot plate. Call me, ok? Promise?”

Oliver smiled this time, his warm blue eyes and his stupid beautiful face making her insides melt. “I promise, Felicity,” he said like he just couldn’t help but say her name.

“Good.”

* * *

 

It became a thing, somehow. He still came over for Corporate Master of the Universe 101, but sometimes he’d call her out of the blue and ask if she had dinner plans. He was always hesitant, like every time he expected her to say no, but she never did. She found herself cancelling plans if she happened to have them when he called. She refused to think of it as pining for him or hoping he’d change he mind, because that definitely wasn’t it. Oliver was a friend and they were spending time together. Besides, if she had to think about more innocent squirrels getting butchered and cooked in Verdant’s basement, she might throw up.

She bought groceries, he cooked. Eventually, he’d complained about her _only mostly_ takeout diet. There was no way it was healthy. Besides, if she bought the ingredients, he’d cook. It was the least he owed her, he said.

The first few attempts weren’t very good, but still better than anything Felicity had attempted recently. After he got the hang of it, though, he was an amazing chef. Felicity supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. She was a scatterbrained multitasker. It made her excellent at her IT job at QC and her other job helping the masked heroes of the city. Oliver, on the other hand, was single-minded and incredibly focused. Whatever problem was in front of him got his undivided attention. He’d made a full Italian feast one night, complete with tiramisu, and Felicity hadn’t been able to hold back a moan. Who needed orgasms when food like that existed in the world?

She bought him a belated birthday present. It was a white apron that said “Queen of the Kitchen” in bold, blue letters and had a huge, yellow crown hanging off the Q. He wore it every time he cooked and it never failed to make Felicity smile.

* * *

 

The first time he stayed over was just a few hours after he’d left one night. He had made an absolutely mouth-gasmic chicken cordon bleu that Felicity was still digesting on the couch in front of her Netflix queue.

Under the explosive sounds of _Iron Man_ on her screen, she heard a soft, tentative knocking at her apartment door. She got up, brow furrowed as she made her way to look through the peep hole. Surely a burglar or other villain would just barge in. Who would knock so gently, as if they were hoping she wouldn’t hear?

One look through the peep hole showed a very wet, morose-looking Oliver Queen. She immediately opened the door wider and stood aside, ushering in him and not giving him time to pause or protest.

“What happened? Did you fall into a pond hunting ducks?” she asked. She closed and locked her door before turning to take off his leather jacket and hang it up on the shower rod in the bathroom. It was the only place in the apartment it would properly dry.

He stood here while she bustled around him, and when she finally turned to see why he hadn’t answered her there was a small smile on his face chasing away just a bit of the darkness.

“What if I said yes?” he asked. His voice was quiet but a little, tiny bit amused.

“I would say that’s no better than squirrels, and you promised me you’d leave the wildlife of Starling City alone. Besides, the ducks are so cute! And little kids feed them. Do you really want to deprive the youth of Starling City the joy of feeding cute little ducks?” she asked, hands on her hips and staring him down with a half-amused glare.

He huffed and Felicity wanted to fist pump. He still looked a little sad, but their banter and his laughter had mostly chased the shadows away.

He shook his head, scattering water droplets from his hair. “It’s storming outside,” he said. Felicity padded to the window and drew back a curtain, not all that surprised by the torrential downpour she found. It always seemed so gloomy in Starling City. The rain hardly fazed her anymore. Besides, the Las Vegas sun had been killer on her fair complexion.

“Come here before you warp the floorboards,” she said, walking back to her bedroom. He waited at the threshold, taking in the details of her room with wide eyes while she rooted in the back of her closet for clothes her exes had left behind and she’d been to vindictive to give back but too sad to toss or burn.

“These should fit,” she said, shoving a t-shirt and pair of sweatpants into his arms. “Change in the bathroom and I’ll dry your clothes while you tell me what had you driving all the way here on a motorcycle in the middle of a rainstorm.”

He looked like he did _not_ want to have that conversation, but complied.

Once they were seated on the couch, a glass of water in Oliver’s hands and a glass of her favorite wine in hers, she looked at him expectantly and waited.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to wait too long.

“I . . . I just . . . I didn’t want to be alone,” he said, almost whispered, not even looking at her but staring at the pattern of her couch. Without warning, he shot to his feet. “I shouldn’t have come back, you’re probably busy, or tired, or - ”

“Oliver,” Felicity said, reaching up to grab his arm with her free hand. She looked up at him until his eyes finally met hers and she smiled. “It’s fine. I’m happy you’re here. Sit back down.”

Slowly, he did. Felicity couldn’t help but feel a little heartbroken at this man before her. He was so big and strong and saved the city by night, but in the darkness and shadows when the mission was over, there wasn’t anyone there for _him_ to rely on and unburden himself to.

“Talk to me,” she said.

That was all it took.

It was slow, and halting, but he talked about his nightmares. About Slade, and what might have happened if they hadn’t been smart enough to defeat him. If _she_ hadn’t been smart enough he said, grinning at her for a moment with happiness and pride and . . . something else in his eyes. Nightmares about Moira, about watching his mother die in front of him, about what if it had been Thea, too? What if it had been everyone? Then, they devolved into Shado and Sara and everyone he hadn’t been able to save in those years away.

When he was done, looking thoroughly exhausted but much, much lighter than he had when he walked in, Felicity put her wine down, leaned in, and wrapped both arms around him. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the words between them or maybe it was that half-believed confession from all those months ago with Slade. Maybe it was all three, but Felicity felt, in this moment, that he needed her. And she needed him. Always.

“You can always talk to me, Oliver,” she said, hugging him a little tighter until he finally relaxed against her and gently, so gently, hugged her back. “I’ll always listen.”

After a few moments, Felicity stood and looked down at Oliver. He was soft, vulnerable, and hazy around the edges. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anything more beautiful. “You’re staying here tonight. I guess that’s why you came back anyway, but you’re too considerate or polite or whatever to ask. The guest room has pillows with cute cartoon animals on them, but you’re secure enough in your masculinity to handle that. Just don’t shoot them, ok?” she said, tilting her head to the side and grinning. He immediately returned the smile, standing and following her back to the guest room.

* * *

 

That became part of their thing. He didn’t always stay. He didn’t even stay most of the time. Just some nights, when she shadows were too dark and the memories were pressing too close, he would knock on her door so _, so_ softly, confess his fears to her like they were his deepest secrets, which she supposed they were, and sleep in her guest room.

They didn’t really talk about it, but their relationship changed. They didn’t just know what the other liked for dinner. Oliver knew how to make her coffee. Felicity now knew that he didn’t actually like coffee in the morning, just disgusting healthy drinks. He only drank coffee as an afternoon pick-me-up if he needed it. His clothes were in the washer with hers. She found out he could make a bed faster than anyone she knew, once she taught him how. Catching him with a fitted sheet, staring at it like it was the worst criminal Starling City had ever faced, still made her laugh out loud if she thought about it.

It led to more, and Felicity loved it.

Eventually, it led to “would you like to have dinner with me?”

Felicity thought about writing a thank-you note to Thea for the bar garnishes, but she didn’t want to explain and the girl definitely wouldn’t understand. Was there a way to write a thank-you note to the squirrels of Starling City?


End file.
